Project Gutenberg's The Border Boys on the Trail, by Fremont B. DeeringThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: The Border Boys on the TrailAuthor: Fremont B. DeeringRelease Date: April 11, 2015 [EBook #48680]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BORDER BOYS ON THE TRAIL ***Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, David Edwards, and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net(This file was produced from images generously madeavailable by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: From the mouth of the dark pit a fetid, foul-smelling air rushed upward.] THE BORDER BOYS ON THE TRAIL BY FREMONT B. DEERING NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1911, BY HURST & COMPANY MADE IN U. S. A. * * * * * CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. ON THE BORDER 5 II. THE BOYS FIND TROUBLE 21 III. A RACE FOR LIFE 35 IV. THROUGH THE GREAT DARKNESS 48 V. THE RUSTLERS AT WORK 65 VI. TAKING UP THE TRAIL 79 VII. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 94 VIII. BLACK RAMON'S MISSION 104 IX. A MOMENTOUS INTERVIEW 115 X. IN THE BELL TOWER 125 XI. A DROP IN THE DARK 138 XII. A RIDE FOR THE HILLS 150 XIII. THE HERMIT OF THE CAON 160 XIV. TRAVELS WITH A MULE 173 XV. A GATEWAY TO FREEDOM 186 XVI. SHORT RATIONS 200 XVII. THE TALE OF A MULE 212 XVIII. THE TREASURE OF THE MISSION 222 XIX. JIM HICKS, PROSPECTOR 234 XX. RALPH A TRUE HERO 247 XXI. AT THE IRRIGATION DAM 262 XXII. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 278 XXIII. WITH THE RURALES 287 XXIV. THE ROUND-UP 295 * * * * *The Border Boys on the Trail.CHAPTER I.ON THE BORDER."Maguez! Maguez!"The trainmen began hoarsely shouting the curious-sounding name of thesmall frontier town near the Mexican border, in the southwest partof New Mexico. Slowly the long dust-covered Southern Pacific expressrolled imposingly into "Mag-gay," very slowly, in fact, as if it didnot wish to tarry in that desolate, sun-bitten portion of the continent.As the brakes began to grind down, one of two boys of about seventeen,who had been lounging on the shady side of a forward sleeper, awokefrom a semi-doze with a start."Hullo! somebody wants Maggie!" exclaimed Ralph Stetson, as he gazedout of the open window. He saw nothing more novel before his eyes,however, than the same monotonous stretch of yellow, sandy wastes,sprinkled with sage brush and dotted by a few wandering cattle, whichthe train had been traversing for hours."You'll have to get used to New Mexican pronunciation of Mexicannames, Ralph," laughed his companion, as he also opened his eyes andbegan looking about him in the half-startled manner peculiar to thoseabruptly awakened from "forty winks." "'Maggie', as you call it, is ourstation.""Station!" echoed the other. "Where is it?"He stuck his head out of the window as the train gradually decreasedspeed, but his eyes encountered nothing more suggestive of a town thana stock car on a lonely side track, into which some cowboys, with wildyells and much spurring of their wiry little steeds, were herding a fewbeef cattle."That freight car must be in front of the town," muttered the boy,pulling in his head."Over this side, you tenderfoot!" laughed Jack Merrill, pointing outof the left-hand window. "Haven't you got used to Western towns yet?""One-sided towns, you mean, I guess," said Ralph, rising and lookingout in the opposite direction. "Why in the name of the State of NewMexico do they build all the towns out here at one side of the tracks?""So that Easterners can have something to wonder about," laughed JackMerrill, brushing off the accumulation of white desert dust from hisdark suit with a big brown hand."Or so that they can at least get a few minutes of shade when a trainpulls in," retorted Ralph, gazing at the sun-baked collection of woodenstructures toward which the train was rolling. A yellow water tank,perched on a steel frame, towered above the town like a sunflower on astalk. Apparently it took the place of trees, of which there was not avestige, unless a few cactus plants be excepted."Better follow my example and brush some of the desert off," said Jack,still brushing vigorously."No, let the porter do it; here he is," said the Eastern Ralph. Sureenough, with his black face expanded in a grin expectant of tips, thepresiding genius of the Pullman approached."Come on, cheer up, Ralph!" laughed Jack, glancing at his companion'sdismal face, which was turned toward the window and its barren view."Don't be downcast because my home town isn't surrounded by elms, andmeadows, and fat Jersey cows, and all that. Haven't we lain awake manya night at Stonefell College, talking over the West, and here you arein the heart of it.""Well, it's a good warm heart, anyway!" grumbled Ralph, mopping hissteaming forehead.The train came to a stop with an abrupt jerk, and followed by theporter, carrying two new and shiny suitcases, the boys hastened fromthe car, into the blinding sunlight which lay blisteringly on Maguezand its surroundings. Everything quivered in the heat. The boys werethe only passengers to alight."Phew, it's like opening an oven door!" exclaimed Ralph, as the heatedatmosphere fell full upon him. "We've come more than two thousandmiles from an Eastern summer to roast out here.""And look at the train, will you!" cried Jack. "It looks as if it hadbeen through a snowstorm."He pointed down the long line of coaches, each of which was powderedthickly with white dust."All ab-oa-rd!"The conductor's sonorous voice echoed down the train, and with a fewmighty puffs from the laboring engine, the wheels once more began torevolve. The porter, clutching a tip in his fingers, leaped back onto his car. All the time they had been waiting in the station thelocomotive had been impatiently blowing off steam, and emitting greatclouds of black smoke, as though in a desperate hurry to get awayfrom inhospitable-looking Maguez. It now lost no time in getting intomotion. As the cars began to roll by, Jack gave a sudden shout."Ralph! The-the professor! We've forgotten him!""Good gracious, yes! What could we have been thinking of! We aregetting as absentminded as he is. Here, stop the train! Hey, I say,we----"But before the shouts had done resounding, a tall, spare man of middleage stepped out on the platform of one of the front coaches, and aftergazing about him abstractedly for a few seconds, swung himself off,landing unsteadily on a pair of long, slender legs. So great was theshock of the professor's landing that his huge spectacles were jerkedoff his prominent nose, and he had all he could do to retain a hold ona large volume which he held tightly clasped under his left arm.The boys hurried to pick up the professor's spectacles and hand them tohim."We almost lost you, professor!" exclaimed Ralph."Ah, boys, I was immersed in the classics--'The Defense of Socrates,'and----""Why, Professor Wintergreen, where is your suitcase?" exclaimed Jacksuddenly. "See--the train is moving, and----""Shades of Grecian Plato!" shouted the professor, glancing about himwildly. "I've forgotten it! Stop! I must get it back! I----"He made a sudden dash for the train, which was now moving so swiftlythat it was manifestly impossible that he could board it in safety. Theboys both pulled him back, despite his struggles.Just then, the car which the boys had recently vacated began to glideby. A black face appeared at the window. It was the porter, and in hishand he held a large green suitcase. It was the same the professor hadleft behind him when he vacated the car in which they had traveled fromthe East, and went forward into the smoking car with his book."Look out!" yelled the porter, as he threw the piece of baggage out ofthe window. It hurtled forth with a vehemence indeed that threatened totake off the scientist's head, which it narrowly missed."Fo' de Lawd!" the porter shouted back, as the train gathered way."Wha' yo all got in dat valise--bricks?""No, indeed, sir," retorted the professor seriously, as his suitcasewent bounding over the platform, which was formed of sun-baked earth."I have books. The idea of such a question. Why should I want to carrybricks about with me, although the ancient Egyptians----"By this time the porter was far out of hearing, and the last car of thetrain had whizzed by. Before the professor could conclude his speech,the suitcase--as if to prove his contention as to its contents byactual proof--burst open, and out rolled several massive volumes. Thefew loungers, who had gathered to watch the train come in, set up aroar of laughter as the professor--his coat flaps flying out behind himlike the tail of some strange bird--darted after his beloved volumes."That's what you might call a circulating library!" grinned Jack, asthe books bounded about with the impetus of their fall."I thought it was a Carnegie Car, you see----" began Ralph, when asudden shout checked him. He glanced up in the direction from which ithad come. A dust-covered buckboard, in which sat a tall, bronzed man inplainsman's clothes, was dashing toward them. The two buckskin ponieswhich drew it were being urged to their utmost speed by the driver, towhom Jack Merrill was already waving his hand and shouting:"Hello, dad!"In the meantime the professor was groping about on the platform,picking up his scattered treasures, and all the time commenting loudlyto himself on his misfortune."Dear, dear!" he exclaimed, picking up one bulky volume and examiningit with solicitude. "Here's a corner broken off Professor WillikinWilliboice's 'The Desert Dwellers of New Mexico, With Some Accountof the Horn Toad Eaters of the Region.' And what have we here? Eheu!the monumental work of Professor Simeon Sandburr, on the 'Fur-BearingPollywog of the South Polar Regions,' is----""Slightly damaged about the back!" broke in a hearty voice behind him."But never mind, professor; the pollywogs will grow up into frogsyet, never fear. We'll soon have those volumes mended; and now let meintroduce myself, as my son Jack seems unable to do so. My name isJefferson Merrill, the owner of Agua Caliente Ranch.""Delighted to meet you, sir," said the professor. "Proud to encounter aman whose name is not unknown to science in connection with his effortsto uncover something of the history of the mesa dwellers of this partof the world.""Whose relics, if my son informed me rightly in his letters from schoolin the East, you have come to study, professor.""Yes, sir; thanks to your hospitality," rejoined the professor,imprisoning his recovered volumes with a click of his suitcase clasps;"it was extremely handsome of you to invite me, and----""Not at all, my dear sir, not at all," expostulated the rancher, akindly smile spreading on his bronzed features. "Besides," he continuedin his breezy manner, "as Latin professor at Stonefell College you willno doubt be able to give an eye to your two pupils, and keep them outof mischief better than I could." Here the professor looked doubtful."You see, we're pretty busy now, what with cattle rustlers and----""Cattle rustlers, dad!" exclaimed Jack. "Hooray!""It's nothing to be enthusiastic over, my boy. Several of the borderranchers have suffered severely recently from their depredations.""Have you lost any stock, dad?""No; so far, I have luckily escaped. But the rascals may come at anytime, and it keeps me on the lookout. They are well organized, Ibelieve, and have a stronghold somewhere back across the border. So youboys will have to depend on your own devices for amusement. But nowcome, don't let's stand baking here any longer. There's a long drivebefore us, and we had better be getting on.""But, dad, look at all our baggage!" cried Jack, pointing to the heapof trunks the baggage car had dropped. "There'll never be room for allof us in that buckboard.""So I guessed," smiled his father. "So I had Bud Wilson bring in twoponies for you boys to ride out on. You told me, I think, that yourfriend Ralph, here, could ride.""Good for you, dad!" exclaimed Jack impulsively; "it'll be fine to getin the saddle again--and to see old Bud, too," he added."Who is Bud?" asked Ralph."You'll soon get to know him yourself," laughed Mr. Merrill. "But youboys go and get your horses. While you are gone the professor and Iwill try to get some of these independent gentlemen standing about togive us a hand to load the trunks on. Then we'll drive on to the ranch.You can overtake us. Eh, Professor Summerblue?""Wintergreen, sir," rejoined the professor in a dignified way."Eh--oh, I beg your pardon. I knew it was something to do with theseasons. I hope you will pardon me, Professor Spring----No, I meanWintergreen.""Just like dad, he never can remember a name," laughed Jack, as the twoboys hastened off to find the ponies and Bud."Maybe he is worried about these cattle bustlers----""Rustlers, you tenderfoot--you are as bad as dad.""Well, rustlers, then. They must be desperate characters.""A lot of sneaking greasers usually. They hustle the cattle or horsesoff over the border, but occasionally one of them gets caught andstrung up, and that's the end of it.""Then there are no border wars any more, or Indians, or----""Adventures left in the West," Jack finished for him, laughing at theother's disappointed tone. Then, more seriously: "Well, Ralph, the Westisn't what it's pictured to be in Wild West shows; but we've plentyof excitement here once in a while, and before you go back East, withthose lungs of yours in A-one shape, you may experience some of it.""I hope so," said Ralph, looking up the long dusty street with itssun-blistered board shacks on either side, with a few disconsolateponies tied in front. The yellow water tower topped above it all likesome sort of a misshapen palm tree or sunflower on steel legs. In fact,a more typical border town than Maguez at noon on a June day couldnot be imagined. Except for the buzzing of flies, and the occasionalclatter of a horse's hoofs as some one rode or drove up to the generalstore--which, together with a blacksmith shop, a disconsolate-lookinghotel, and a few miscellaneous buildings made up the town--there wasnot a sound to disturb the deep, brooding silence of the desert atnoonday. Far on the horizon, like great blue clouds, lay the Sierre dela Hacheta, in the foothills of which lay Agua Caliente Ranch."So this is the desert?" went on Ralph, as they made their way up therough wooden sidewalk toward the stable where they expected to find BudWilson and the horses."This is it," echoed Jack Merrill, "and the longer you know it thebetter you like it.""It's peaceful as a graveyard, anyhow," commented Ralph. "Doesn'tanything ever happen? I wonder if----"He broke off suddenly as a startling interruption occurred.The quiet of Maguez had been rudely shattered by a sudden sound.Bang!From a small building to their right, on which was painted in scrawlyred letters the words, "Riztorant. Meelz At Awl Howrz," there had comethe sharp crack of a pistol shot.Before its echoes had died away, several doors opened along the street,and a motley crowd of cowboys, Mexicans and blanketed Indians pouredout to ascertain the cause of the excitement.They had not long to wait. From the door of the restaurant a pig-tailedMongolian suddenly shot with the speed of a flying jackrabbit. TheChinaman cleared the hitching rail in front of the place at one bound,his progress being hastened from behind by a perfect avalanche of cupsand other dishes.Bang!A second shot came, as the Oriental sprinted up the street. All at oncehe stopped dead in his tracks as the bullet sang by his ear."Well, Ralph, I guess something's happened, after all!" remarkedJack Merrill, as the crowd began to thicken and the restaurant dooronce more opened. This time a strange figure, to Ralph's Easterneyes, emerged from the portal. A sinister suggestion was lent tothe newcomer's appearance by the fact that in his right hand thereglistened an exceedingly business-like looking revolver.CHAPTER II.THE BOYS FIND TROUBLE."No shootee! No shootee!"The blue-overalled Chinaman plumped down on his knees in the thickdust, with his hands clasped in entreaty. Above him, threatening thecowering wretch with his pistol, stood the figure of the man who hademerged so suddenly from the restaurant door. The crowd doing nothingstood stoically looking on.The tormentor of the Mongolian was a tall, swarthy figure of a man,crowned with a high-peaked, silver-braided sombrero, the huge brim ofwhich almost obscured the repulsive details of his swarthy face. Theremainder of his garb was a short jacket, beneath which a broad redsash upheld the most peculiar nether garments Ralph had ever seen.They were tight about their wearer's thin legs as far as the knees,when the black velvet of which they were made suddenly became as fulland baggy as the trousers of a sailor. High-heeled boots and a pairof jingling silver spurs completed his fantastic costume--the typicalholiday garb of a Mexican, including the revolver."By Sam Hooker, I know that chink!" cried Jack, as the boys ran up andjoined the crowd. "It's Hop Lee. He used to cook on my father's ranch.I remember hearing now that he had started some kind of a restaurant intown. Here, Hop Lee, what's the matter?""Oh, Misser Mellill, you helpee me! No let Misser De Ballios shooteeme! I do no halm. Me catch um----""What are you boys interfering here for?" demanded the Mexicansuddenly, wheeling angrily. He spoke in good English, but with a traceof accent. Jack, despite his brown face and the keen, resourcefullook which comes from a plainsman's life, wore Eastern-cut clothes.The Mexican had promptly sized him up for a tenderfoot. "You just runalong, or you'll get hurt," he continued menacingly.He leveled his gun, and brusquely ordered the Chinaman, who had by thistime arisen, to kneel once more in the dust."Don't do it, Hop Lee. Get back to your cook stove," cried Jack."He _will_ kneel!" declared the Mexican, facing about, "or----""Well, or what?" demanded Jack, looking the silver-braided bravadostraight in the eyes."Or you will!"Question and answer came sharp as pistol shots.The Mexican raised his pistol menacingly. But at the same instant afoot suddenly projected between the Spanish-American's slender legs andtwisted about one limb. The next instant the gaudily garbed bully layprostrate in the dust, the pungent stuff filling his eyes, mouth andnose.It was Ralph Stetson's foot which had tripped the man. The boy hadacted in a sudden excess of fear that the Mexican was about to shoothis chum. As a matter of fact, the fellow had had no such intention.But now he had shared the fate of many another man who has made abluff, only to have it promptly taken at its full value.A sort of murmur of alarm went through the crowd as the Mexicanmeasured his length in the dust."Say, pard," said a short, chunky little cowboy behind Ralph, "you'vedone it now; that's Black Ramon De Barrios.""Well, he's white now!" laughed the boy, as the Mexican rose to hisfeet with his features smothered with white dust."Looks as if he'd been taking a dive in the flour barrel!" laughedJack. He turned to Ralph with a quick, "Thanks, old fellow. I see thatyou're as much on the job here as on the football field. But I don'tthink he meant to shoot----""No, he _did_ not, but he _does_ now!"De Barrios approached the boys, his pistol leveled and his black,serpent-like eyes glinting wickedly. "I'll show you what Black Ramoncan do! He never forgets an insult nor forgives an injury!"Aghast at the threatened tragedy, the crowd did nothing, and the boysstood rooted to one spot. Closer and closer, like a snake, the Mexicancrept, determined, it seemed, to get the full measure of anticipationout of his revenge for his tumble. Jack never flinched, but his heartbeat unpleasantly fast.The Mexican's brown, cigarette-stained forefinger trembled on thetrigger. He was quite close now.The fat little cowboy gave a yell of alarm, and sprang suddenly forward."Look out! The varmint's going to shoot!"But at the same instant a strange thing happened A snaky loop whizzedthrough the air and settled about the bully's neck. The vengefulMexican was suddenly jerked off his feet as it tightened, his long legsthreshing the air like those of a swimming frog."Roped, by ginger!" yelled some one in the crowd, as De Barrios, at theend of a lariat, went ploughing through the dust on his face for thesecond time.And roped, Ramon De Barrios was. So absorbed had the crowd been inwatching the tense scene before them that few of them had noticed acowboy mounted on a small calico pony who had ridden slowly up froma point behind the boys. This cow-puncher, a long-legged, rangy,sun-burned fellow, in typical stockman's garb, had watched everythingattentively till the critical moment. Then, with a quick twist, he hadroped the Mexican as neatly as he would have tied a calf on brandingday."Well done, and thank you, Bud!" shouted Jack, running up and shakingthe cowboy's hand.The latter had halted his pony a short distance from them. But thedistance had been quite far enough for De Barrios, whose method oftraveling had been far from comfortable."Where did you spring from, old fellow?" Jack went on."From the corral up the street," said Bud, displaying no more emotionthan if he and the boys had had an appointment to meet at that spotunder quite ordinary circumstances. "Just wait till I get this heresidewinder of a greaser cut loose, and I'll talk to you."All this time De Barrios had lain prone in the dust, with the ropestretched tight, just as the trained cow pony had kept it. Bud nowcast loose the end which he had wound about his saddle horn, and theMexican, with a sulky look, rose to his feet and threw off the rawhideloop."Here's your gun," said Bud Wilson, leaning from his saddle and pickingup the fallen weapon from the dust."Hold on, though," he said suddenly. Breaking the weapon open, he"sprung" the shells out of it. This done, he handed it to the Mexican,who took it with a sinister look."To our next meeting!" he grated, as he turned away."Well, stay on your feet next time!" rejoined Bud composedly, amid aroar from the crowd."Now, Hop Lee," demanded Jack Merrill of the Chinaman, as De Barriosstrode off without a word, but with a black look on his swarthy face,"what was the trouble in there?""Why, the Chink spilled a spot of grease on the brim of the Mexican'ssombrero," volunteered somebody, "and when he wouldn't wipe it offagain, De Barrios got mad.""Well, I don't know as I blame the greaser so very much, those beingthe circumstances," remarked Bud dryly. "These Chinks has got to bekep' in order some way. Now get back to your chuck wagon, Hop, anddon't give no more dissatisfaction to your customers."Ralph now learned who Bud Wilson was--a cow-puncher who had worked forJack's father for many years, and had practically brought Jack up onthe range. Bud had two strong dislikes, Mexicans and Apaches, and hisservices against the latter had given him his nickname of Apache Bud.For tenderfeet, Bud had merely pity."Poor critters," he would say, when at his ease in the bunkhouse, orwhen sweeping across the range on his favorite calico pony, "I s'poseit ain't their fault--being raised unnatural--but the most of 'em isdumb as a locoed coyote.""What ponies have you brought for us, Bud?" asked Jack, as, with thetwo boys walking beside him, the cowboy rode slowly back to the stable,from the door of which he had first espied their difficulty."Waal, I brought Firewater fer you," said Bud, "and Petticoats, thebuckskin, for your tenderfoot friend here.""Petticoats!" said Jack in a tone of vexation. "Why, Petticoats is thetamest old plug on the ranch.""That's all right, Jack," said Ralph, bravely choking back a feeling ofmortification. "I guess, when I've shown I can ride, I'll get a chanceat a better animal."Bud Wilson gazed at him with a kindlier expression than he had yetbestowed on the rather pale-faced young Easterner. Although an athleteand a boxer, Ralph had had some slight bronchial trouble of late, andhad been recommended to spend his vacation in New Mexico as a means ofeffecting a complete cure."So you kin ride?" Bud asked."A little," said Ralph modestly.As a matter of fact, Mr. Stetson, the railroad magnate, owned severalgood horses, and had always encouraged his son Ralph in using them.In this way Ralph had had plenty of experience with one or two of theEastern "drag hunts," and had played polo a little. Jack Merrill knewthis. It mortified him, therefore, to think that old Petticoats hadbeen brought for his guest."I tell you, Ralph," he said generously, "you take Firewater and seehow you like him.""Not much, Jack," exclaimed Ralph. "He's your own pet particular pony.I've often heard you speak of him. No; I'll take old Petticoats. Iguess we'll get on all right together."Both ponies were saddled and ready for them when the party reached thestable. De Barrios, who had had his heavy black horse in the corral,was riding out as they came up. The Mexican gave them a black look, towhich they paid no attention. The Mexican, whatever he may have lookedlike on foot, presented an impressive sight on his black horse--asuperb, long-tailed animal with a glossy coat and great, restless eyes.De Barrios's saddle and bridle and martingale were covered with silver,and both horse and rider were typical productions of the border."Even you will admit that that's a good horse," said Jack to Bud, asthe Mexican loped off at an easy, swinging gait, and the boys startedinto the barn."Oh, yes. He's all right; but give me my calico here for a traveler,"said Bud, patting the neck of his beloved Chappo.Poor Petticoats was certainly not an imposing-looking pony. She was asmall buckskin, and appeared to be a good enough traveler; but she hadan ewe neck, and a straggly tail, and a lack-lustre eye, very unlikeJack's glossy-coated, bright bay pony."I thought you said she was a quiet old plug," said Ralph, as his eyesfell on the mare for the first time."So she is, why?" asked Jack, who had been too busy tighteningFirewater's cinch to notice the really remarkable antics of Petticoat."Well, look at that!" exclaimed Ralph, as Petticoats lashed out at him.For a quiet steed, Petticoats certainly was jumping about a good deal.There was a restless look in her eyes. She rolled them back till onlythe white showed. Her ears were pressed wickedly close to the side ofher not very shapely head."Say, she's acting queerly, for fact," said Jack. "Maybe she's beeneating loco weed. Shall I ask Bud to look her over before you mount?""No, don't. He'd only josh me about her. I guess she's only restless.Just come off pasture, maybe."So without a word to Bud, who had remained outside the barn while theboys were getting their ponies, Ralph swung himself easily into thesaddle.His body had hardly touched the leather before the placid--or, rather,supposedly placid--Petticoats leaped into the air with a spring whichwould have unseated a less-experienced rider, and then came down withall four feet stiffly braced together in a wicked buck.If Ralph had been a less plucky rider, he would have been unseated, andalmost to a certainty seriously hurt. As it was, however, he stuck tothe saddle."Whoa, Petticoats, whoa!" shouted Jack, steadying his own pony, whichwas getting excited and prancing about as it saw the other's antics."W-w-w-what's the m-m-matter with her?"The words were jerked out of Ralph's mouth, as Petticoats plunged andreared and gave a succession of stiff-legged bucks.Jack had no time to reply before the buckskin, with a squeal and aseries of running leaps, was out of the stable door."What in the name of the great horn spoon!" yelled the startled Bud, asa buff-colored streak flashed past him. The next instant, with a rattleof hoofs and an alarming crackling and flapping of saddle leathers, thelittle pony was off in a cloud of dust, headed for the desert."Locoed?" shouted Jack, as he and Bud Wilson dug their big,blunt-rowelled spurs into their mounts and started in pursuit."I dunno," muttered Bud, shaking a big loop out of his "rope," as theytore along at break-neck speed, "but we've got to catch him.""Why? If he doesn't fall off he'll be all right. She'll soon runherself out.""No, she won't, either. Since you've been East they've put through abig irrigation canal out yonder. That cayuse is headed right for it,and if the kid can't stop her, they'll go sky-whooping over the edge.""Wow! We've got to get him.""That's what. Spur up now, and get your rope ready. Now's your chanceto show me you haven't forgot all I ever taught you about roping."Jack unslung the thirty feet of plaited rawhide from the right hand ofhis saddle horn, and shook out a similar loop to Bud's. Both ponieswere now going at the limit of their speed, and the distance betweenthem and the runaway seemed to be diminishing."Will we get him in time?" gasped Jack."Dunno. There's the canal yonder. It's a twenty-foot drop."The cowboy pointed dead ahead to where a dark, purplish streak cutacross the dun expanse of desert."We've _got_ to beat him to it!" said Jack, gritting his teeth.CHAPTER III.A RACE FOR LIFE.Fast as they raced on, Jack and the cow-puncher seemed to gain on theflying Petticoats with aggravating slowness."Consarn that mare, she's plumb locoed, I reckon!" growled Bud, as theyrocketed along, flogging their ponies to renewed efforts with theirheavy quirts."She runs like a quarter horse!" gasped Jack, his mouth full of alkalidust; for he had no neck handkerchief to pull up over his mouth,vaquero style.But with their splendid mounts they were bound to gain on the suddenlycrazed Petticoats, and gradually they drew so close that all threeriders were blanketed by the same cloud of dust.Behind them came a second great cloud, in which rode a score or more ofriders from Maguez who had hastily mounted and galloped out to see thefun as soon as they heard there was a runaway."The canal!" shouted Jack suddenly.A wandering breeze for a second swept aside the dust cloud beforethem, and showed the fresh, raw wound gaping in the level surface ofthe desert. It was fully thirty feet wide, and as the canal was a newditch, its sides were almost as steep as a wall.Bud Wilson said nothing, but set his lips grimly. With an imperceptiblemovement of his wrist, he gathered his trailing loop into the air andbegan to whirl it above his head, first slowly and then faster andfaster. The rawhide loop opened out till it was ten feet or more incircumference."Now!" he yelled, and at the same instant the released loop wentswirling through the air."Yip-yip!" yelled Jack.Bud had won proudly many a prize for roping, and was the most expertman with the lariat in his part of the West. Had he wished, he couldhave roped the flying Petticoats by the heels. But to have done sowould have been to have brought the crazed pony down with a crash, andprobably have seriously injured, if not killed, her rider.Swish!The great loop settled as accurately as if hands had guided it aboutthe maddened pony's neck. Bud took a twist of his end round the saddlehorn and checked the calico."Got her!" screamed Jack. "Yi-hi!"But there came a sudden shout of dismay from Bud.The calico's foot had caught in a gopher hole, and over he went,turning almost a complete somersault.Jack gave a shout of horror as he saw the catastrophe. He feared Budhad been killed, but the lithe bronco buster was up in a second,stumbling toward his fallen horse.But the rope did not prove equal to the sudden strain put upon it bythe collapse of the calico. The instant the pony had fallen, of courseits full weight had come on the rawhide, instead of there being, as Budhad planned, a gradual strangling down of the runaway. It had been,in effect, a tug of war between the flying Petticoats and the suddenlychecked calico.Crack!The rope twanged taut as a stretched fiddle string and parted with asnap just as Bud reached back into the hip of his leathern chaperarosfor his Colt.He had determined to shoot the runaway and risk disabling Ralph, ratherthan have the pony take the twenty-foot plunge over the brim of thecanal. But at the moment his finger pressed the trigger there came ashout from Jack, who was now only a few paces behind Petticoats. Theboy's hastily thrown lariat had missed altogether.Before their horrified eyes, the runaway buck-skin and her rider thenext instant plunged in one confused heap over the bank of the canaland vanished from sight.Jack was within a breath of following them over the brink, but in thenick of time he wheeled the carefully trained Firewater round on hishaunches and averted a second calamity.Controlling his half-maddened steed, the boy pressed to the edge ofthe canal. The bank was new and smooth, and as steep as the roof ofa house. Ralph and his pony had rolled over and over down this placein one inextricable heap. But by the time Jack reached the edge of thesteep bank, Ralph had kicked free of the big, clumsy Mexican stirrupsand was struggling in the water.The flood was rushing along in a yellow, turbid swirl. There had been afreshet in the mountains a few days before, and to relieve the pressureon the land company's dam up there, the spillways had been opened totheir capacity. The canal was carrying the great overflow. It torealong between the high, steep banks like a mill race."The flood gates!" came a frenzied shout from Bud. He pointed westward.In a flash Jack realized that the flood gates below must be open, andat the instant of this realization came another thought.If he did not act and act quickly, Ralph would be carried through thegates to probably certain death."Ralph! Ralph!" he shouted, as he gazed down at the brave struggle hischum was making to reach the bank; but the current swept the Easternboy away from it every time. His pony had gained the bank, and waspawing pitifully at the steep, sandy slope.It did not need more than a glance to see that Ralph's strength wasgiving out. He turned up a white, despairing face to Jack, by whoseside there now stood Bud Wilson."Quick, Jack! Chuck him the rope!" shouted Bud in a tense voice.Inwardly angry at himself for not having thought of this before,Jack sent his rawhide snaking down the bank. Ralph, his face whiteand strained above the tearing yellow current, reached out in adesperate effort to clutch the rawhide. Even as his fingers gripped it,however, the current proved too much for him. He was swept away on itswhite-flecked surface like a bit of drift."Ride, boy, ride! We've got to beat him to the sluice and close thegates! It's his only chance!"It was Bud's voice once more.Somehow, Jack found himself in the saddle, with Firewater racingunder him as that brave little bay had never raced before. Closealongside came Bud, rowelling his bleeding-kneed calico cruelly tokeep alongside. Far behind came shouts and yells from the crowd. Thebuckskin, the cause of all the trouble, managed to clamber to the edgeof the stream, where the water was slightly shallower, and was draggedout by ropes. While the race for life swept onward, she stood drippingand shivering on the summit of the bank.From his flying pony Jack caught occasional glimpses of Ralph in thestream below. The boy was a good swimmer, and now that he was beingcarried along with the current, instead of fighting it, he was able tokeep his head above water most of the time."Stick it out, Ralph, old boy!" yelled Jack, as he dashed past thehalf-drowned lad whom the rapid current was carrying almost as swiftlyas the over-run ponies could gallop."We'll be in time!" exclaimed Jack, through his clinched teeth. Rightahead of him he saw some grim, gallows-like looking timbers reared upagainst the sky line, which he knew must mark the sluice.Hardly had the thought flashed through his mind, when Firewater seemedto glide from beneath him. An instant later Jack found himself rollingover and over on the level plain.The same accident as had befallen Bud had happened to him. A gopherhole--one of those pests of desert riders--had tripped Firewater andsent his rider sprawling headlong."Hurt?"Bud Wilson, on the calico, drew up alongside Jack, who had struggled tohis feet and was looking about in a dazed sort of way."No, I'll be all right in a second. But Firewater!"The bay had risen to his feet, but stood, sweating and trembling, withhis head down almost between his knees. He could not have expressed"dead beat" better if he had said it in so many words."Blown up!" exclaimed Bud disgustedly."What shall we do?" choked out Jack."Here, quick! Up behind me!"Bud reached down a hand, kicked a foot out of his left stirrup, and ina second Jack was swung up behind him and they were off."I hope to goodness we strike no more gopher holes," thought the boy,as they raced along, scarcely more slowly than when the plucky littlecalico had only a single burden to carry. Never had the brave littlebeast been used more unmercifully. Bud Wilson plied his heavy quirton the pony's flanks as if he meant to lay the flesh open. To everylash of the rawhide the calico responded bravely, leaping forwardconvulsively."We'll beat him to it!" cried Jack triumphantly, as both riders fairlyfell off the spent calico's back at the sluice gates."Yep, maybe; but we've got to get 'em closed first!" was Bud's laconicresponse.Paying no further attention to the calico--which was too spent, anyhow,to attempt to get away--the two, the man and the boy, ran at top speedacross the narrow wooden runway which led to the big wheels by whichthe gateways of the sluice were raised and lowered."If Ralph can only hold out!" gasped Jack, who, far up the stream hadespied a small black object coming rapidly toward him, which he knewmust be the head of his chum. Ralph was swimming easily, taking carenot to wind himself, and looking out for any opportunity which mightpresent itself to reach the bank. No sooner did he attempt to cross thecurrent, however, than the water broke over him as if he had been abroached-to canoe. He confined his efforts, therefore, to keeping hishead above water. Of the deadly peril that lay ahead of him he had, ofcourse, no knowledge."Hurry, Bud!" cried Jack, in an agony of fear that they would be toolate."All right now, take it easy, Jack. No use hurrying over this job,"replied Bud easily, though his drawn face and the sweat on his foreheadshowed the agitation under which he was laboring."Consarn this thing! How's it work!" he muttered angrily, fiddling withthe machinery, which was complicated and fitted with elaborate gearsand levers to enable the terrific pressure of the water to be handledmore easily.Beneath their feet the stream--a mad torrent above--developed into ascreaming, furious flood at the sluiceway. It shot through the narrowconfines at tremendous velocity, shaking and tearing at the masonrybuttresses as if it would rip them away.To Jack's excited imagination, it seemed as if the swollen canal wasinstinct with life and malevolence, and determined to have human lifeor property in revenge for its confinement.Suddenly the boy's eyes fell on something he had not noticed before.Beyond the floodgate the engineers of the irrigation canal, findingthat the confinement of the water at the sluiceway tended to make thecurrent too savage for mere sandy walls to hold it, had constructeda tunnel. This expedient had been resorted to only after numerousexperimental cement retaining walls had been swept away.Just beyond the buttresses on the other side of the sluice, theentrance of the tunnel yawned blackly. Like a great mouth it swallowedthe raging flood as it swept through the sluice."Bud! Bud! Look!" cried Jack, pointing."Great jumping side-winders! I forgot the tunnel!" groaned Bud, hisusually emotionless face working in his agitation. He had been handlingthe sluice desperately, but without result."We _must_ close the gates within a second, or it will be too late!"shouted Jack, above the roar of the water. Ralph's despairing face wasvery close now."My poor kid, we can't!" wailed Bud."Why not?""The double-doggoned, dash beblinkered fool as looks after 'em haspadlocked 'em, and we can't git 'em closed without a key!"There was not a second to think.Even as the discovery that it would be impossible to close the gateswas made, Ralph's white face flashed into view almost beneath them.Bud made a quick snatch at Jack's lariat, which the boy still retained,and snaked it down over the racing water."Missed!" he groaned, as Ralph's upturned face was hurried by.At the same instant there came a splash that the cow puncher heard evenabove the roar of the water as it tore through its confines.Bud glanced quickly round.Where Jack Merrill had stood a moment before were a pair of shoes, theboy's coat and his shirt.But Jack had gone--he had jumped to Ralph's rescue. As Bud, with asharp exclamation of dismay, switched sharply round, he was just intime to see the forms of the two boys swallowed in the darkness of theirrigation tunnel.CHAPTER IV.THROUGH THE GREAT DARKNESS.Little given to emotion as he was, Bud Wilson reeled backward as ifabout to fall, and gripped the woodwork of the sluice till the bloodcame beneath his nails. His eyes were still riveted on the yawningblack mouth of the tunnel, and the white-flecked, yellow water racinginto it, when the followers of the chase for life came galloping up,leading the ponies of the two boys who had vanished. Blank looks wereexchanged as they learned what had happened."Not a chance for them." was the consensus of opinion.Jack Merrill was not a boy who does things without due thought,however. When he had jumped into what seemed certain death he had doneso with a definite plan in his head.In moments of intense mental strain the mind sometimes acts withlightning-like rapidity, and Jack had reasoned like a flash that theirrigation tunnel, being built to convey water to the lands of theMaguez Land and Development Company, probably emerged on their lands,which lay not more than a mile away. Of course, he was not certain ofthis, but the life of his friend was at stake.Spent as his chum was, Jack thought Ralph could hardly last throughoutthe passage of the tunnel, while he, Jack, was fresh, and also astronger swimmer. These thoughts had all raced through his mind whilehe kicked off his boots and tugged his shirt over his head.Then had come the swift flash below him of Ralph's white, imploringface--and the leap.For a second the current, as he struck it, seemed to be tearing Jacklimb from limb. The undertow at the sluice caught him and dragged himdown, down, and held him under the turbid water till it seemed thathis head must burst open. At last, however, he was shot to the surfacelike a cork out of a bottle. Joyously he filled his lungs and beganswimming.As his hands struck out they encountered something.To his intense joy, the next instant Jack found that the current hadthrown its two victims, himself and Ralph Stetson, together, and nonetoo soon.Ralph's eyes were closed, and though he still floated, he seemedincapable of further effort.Hardly had Jack time to note this, when the light was suddenly blottedout, as if a great curtain had been drawn across the sun. There was amighty roaring, like that of a thousand huge cataracts in his ears, andhe knew that they had entered the water tunnel.Where would it lead them?Fortunately, to Jack, fresh as he was, it was not hard to supportRalph, who was almost exhausted, and keep his own head above water atthe same time. All that the Western boy now feared was that he wouldgive out before they reached the mouth of the tunnel, or a still morealarming possibility which he hardly dared to dwell on.What if the tunnel narrowed?In that case they would be completely submerged, and if the water wereenclosed in an iron tube for any great distance, they would inevitablybe miserably drowned. The roaring in the tunnel was terrific, but atleast it meant one thing, and that was that there was space for soundto reverberate.On and on they shot, borne like straws on the surface of the madtorrent."Does this thing never end, or have they run it clear through to thePacific?" Jack began to wonder.It seemed to him they had been traveling for hours. In reality it wasonly a few minutes.All at once the boy was hurled against the side of the tunnel, andhis feet touched bottom. If it had not been for the velocity of thecurrent, he could have stopped his mad course right there. But thesmooth sides of the tube afforded no hand hold, and the rapidity of thestream precluded all idea of attempting to stem the torrent.But this incident meant to Jack that what he had dreaded most wasactually happening.The subterranean watercourse was narrowing.Hardly had the thought flashed through his mind before he felt himselfsucked by what seemed an invisible arm below the surface. At the sameinstant Ralph was torn from his arms, and both boys, submerged in anarrow part of the tunnel, were drawn through the dark tube at thespeed of an express train."The end!" was the thought that flashed through Jack's mind as he feltthat his worst apprehension had come true.But it was not the end, for an instant later he was shot out of theterrible restriction of the narrow irrigation tube into brilliant,blinding sunlight."Why, this is a sort of scenic railway!" was the whimsical idea thatsped across the boy's mind as he gazed about him. The current hadceased dashing him about, and he was floating in a large pool fromwhich ramifications of sluiceways led in every direction. It was themain retaining basin of the irrigation works. Weakened though he was,Jack found no difficulty in swimming here, and, to his delight, notmany feet from him Ralph was still struggling feebly for life. A fewstrokes brought the boy to his chum's side, and a few strokes morebrought them both ashore.They reached the shallow bank, and Jack laid Ralph down. As he didso, the other boy fainted in good earnest. As Jack bent over his chumhe was startled to hear a voice above, and looking up, saw a manin irrigation boots, with a big shovel in his hand, gazing at themcuriously."Say, are you real, or just what the ground grew?" demanded thestranger. "The advertisements of this land company say their land'llgrow anything, but dear land of Goshen! I didn't know it grew boys.That's a crop I've no use for. I've four of my own, and----""We're real boys, have nothing to do with any land company, and don'twant to, either, after our experience in their water tunnel; and if youcan help me get my chum up on the bank and help me revive him, I'll bemuch obliged," rejoined Jack, all in one breath."Well, if you came through that tube, it hasn't hurt your windany," said the rancher admiringly, dropping his irrigation tool andclambering down the bank. Together he and Jack soon had Ralph stretchedout on the warm sandy soil in a big peach orchard, and it was not longbefore the Eastern boy opened his eyes and looked about him. It waslonger, though, before he recollected what had happened. When he did,he knew that it was Jack who must have held him above water at the mostcritical stage of their wild trip through the tube."Thank you, Jack," he said simply."Oh, pshaw!" said Jack, reddening. "Didn't you trip up that Mexican andsave me getting a bullet through my head?"At this moment a great shout caused them both to look up. Riding towardthem among the trees were a hundred or more mounted men, who brokeinto cheers as they saw the boys. They were the men who had found BudWilson at the sluice gate, and who had at once insisted on his mountingand riding on to the end of the tube to ascertain if by some marvelouschance the boys had survived. When Jack and Ralph stood up--for theyhad been sitting on the ground, relating to their interested host theiradventures--the cheers broke out afresh.Bud Wilson did not say much. He was not a man of words, but his faceexpressed what he felt when he exclaimed in a voice that trembled alittle in spite of his efforts to keep it steady."Waal, I knowed you'd come out of it all right, Jack Merrill.""I wasn't so sure of it myself, I can tell you!" laughed Jack."Say," said Ralph, after the first outburst of questions and answershad subsided, and the boys had had to tell over and over again everydetail of their perilous trip, "what I can't understand is why you callthat plug," pointing to the now downcast Petticoats, who had been ledalong with the party, "why you call that animal 'quiet.' What do _wild_horses do out here, eat you alive or breathe fire?""There was a blamed good reason fer Petticoats' ructions," said Budslowly; and while the eyes of all were fixed intently on him, he heldup a red-stained spur."A Mexican tickler!" cried Jack."That's what, and some one placed it under Petticoats' saddle blanketbefore the boy mounted," rejoined Bud solemnly."Poor beast! No wonder she cut up didoes," said Ralph."I should say not. Look at this."The cowboy lifted the hind flap of Petticoats' saddle, and raising theblankets, showed her back raw and bleeding from the cruel roweling shehad received."But however did that spur get there?" gasped Ralph."Not hard to guess. Can't you imagine?" asked Jack Merrill."No, unless----""It was that greaser you knocked out," Jack finished for him."Consarn the heathenish rattlesnake!" exclaimed the livery stablekeeper, who had been among those to follow the wild chase of thecanal-carried boys. "I seen him monkeying around your ponies justbefore he rode out of the barn. If I ever get my hands on him----"A low growl running through the crowd finished his threat for him. Itwould have fared badly with Black Ramon had he been there then. But hewas far away, riding for the mountains, where he would be safe from theranchmen's vengeance."Waal, we'll run acrost his tracks some day," growled Bud Wilson, "andwhen we do----Waal, let's talk about the weather."The boys said nothing, but their faces spoke volumes. By this time,such was the heat of the sun, Ralph's clothes had almost dried out, andhe was assured that he would suffer no ill effects from his immersion.As Jack was also almost dry, the rancher, who, it turned out, was afriend of Mr. Merrill's, invited the Agua Caliente party in to havesomething to eat while their houses were rubbed down and fed. Aftermore congratulations and expressions of wonderment, the horsemenfrom Maguez rode back to town, and when they had spread the story,the atmosphere of that part of the country would have proved veryunhealthful for Black Ramon. Indeed, there was talk of fitting up anexpedition to go out and get him, but it was surmised that the Mexicanhad probably ridden over the border and taken sanctuary in one of hisretreats."Speaking of irrigation, I'm afraid we are going to have serioustrouble with the water some day," Mr. Hungerford, the rancher, remarkedas they sat at their meal."You mean your orchards will be overflowed?" inquired Jack."Oh, no. I'm not afraid of that. That pool in which you landed from thetunnel is drained by a score of small ditches which ought to be capableof handling any overflow. No, the ranches I mean are the ones backunder the hills--the cattle ranges. The dam back near Grizzly Pass isnone too strong, I am told, and if at any time following a cloudburstthe sluiceways should not be opened in time, the retaining wall mightburst, and the whole country be swept by a disastrous flood. Damage tothousands of dollars' worth of property and the death of scores of menand cattle might also be a consequence.""But surely the dam is well guarded?" asked Ralph."That's just the trouble," said Mr. Hungerford seriously. "At night, Iunderstand, only one old man is on watch there, and if he should meetwith an accident there would be no one to watch for the safety of theranchers in the foothills.""Yep, if she'd carry away, she sure would raise Cain!" agreed BudWilson."Engineers are figuring on some means of strengthening the retainingwall now, I understand," rejoined Mr. Hungerford. "I hope they willcomplete their work before any storm breaks."Soon after, the subject was changed, and at the conclusion of theirmeal, after thanking their hospitable host, the little party set outfor Agua Caliente."What does Agua Caliente mean, anyhow?" asked Ralph, as they rode outof Mr. Hungerford's place."Hot water," rejoined Bud; "and it looks to me as if we didn't have togo as far as the range to get in it.""There are some hot springs on one part of the ranch," explained Jack.As the sun grew low they were still in the saddle. The desert had nowbeen passed and they were traversing foothills--rough, broken ground,covered with scrub oak and split and riven by dried water courses.Behind were the dark slopes of the Sierra de la Hacheta. They appearedblack and menacing in the dying light."They look like regular robbers' roosts," said Ralph, regarding themas the horses picked their way over the rough road, which was scarcelybetter than a track."Robbers' roosts, I guess so," laughed Bud; "and there are some robberroosters among 'em, too," he went on. "Those mountains are on theborder, and some place over beyond them is the most pestiferous band ofcattle rustlers and horse thieves that ever bothered a nice, peaceablecommunity. Why, before Sam Hickey shot Walter Dodge at----"But the boys had broken into a roar of laughter at Bud Wilson's idea ofa peaceable community.Their merriment was brought to a sudden halt, however.From the road ahead had come the sudden clatter of a horse's hoofs. Theanimal was evidently being urged ahead at full speed.Bud's hand slipped swiftly back to his hip pocket. The boys realized bythis almost automatic action that they were in a country where men areapt to shoot first and ask questions afterward.Presently a little rise brought the galloper into view.At the sight of the advancing party, he too slackened speed, and hishand made the same curiously suggestive movement as had Bud Wilson's."Howdy!" called Bud tentatively to the dark form outlined against thesombre background of brown, scrub-grown foothill and purple mountain."Howdy, Bud Wilson!" came back the hail. "I'll be switched if I didn'tthink it was Black Ramon and some of his gang, for a minute!""Why, hello, Walt Phelps!" hailed Bud cheerfully, as the otheradvanced. "I didn't know but you was some sort of varmint. How be yer?""First class, 'Frisco to Portland, Oregon. Hello, Jack Merrill! Well,you're looking natural. Welcome to our city!"The stranger spurred his horse nearer, and Ralph saw that he was a boyabout their own age, on a big, raw-boned gray horse that seemed capableof great efforts. Fast as the other had been advancing, the gray'sflanks hardly heaved."Ralph, this is Walt Phelps. He and I used to play ball together whenwe weren't off on the range some place," said Jack, turning in hissaddle to make the introduction. "He's a neighbor of ours. Lives on thenext ranch. What are you hurrying so for, Walt?"The other shoved back his broad sombrero, and the evening light shoneon a freckled, good-natured face and the reddest hair Ralph had everseen."Guess you ain't heard the news?" he asked curiously."No, what?""Why, those cattle rustlers have broken out again. Raided Perkin'slast night and got away with fifty head.""Phew!""And that's not all. They know who's at the head of the gang now.""Who?""Why, that bullying greaser--what's his name? That Mexican who's beenin trouble a dozen times----""Black Ramon De Barrios?""That's the rooster! We heard he had the nerve to show up in town, andI'm riding in to see if I can't pick up some fellows and head him off.""I guess you're too late, Walt.""How do you know? You only just got in to-day from the East. I met yourfather a while back, and he told me.""I know, but we've had time to meet Black Ramon and put something onour side of the book against him.""Say--tell me." The other's tone held amazement."Come on and ride back with us, and I'll tell you as we go along.Black Ramon's on Mexican soil by this time or soon will be."Their adventures were soon related, and by the time Jack's narrativewas concluded, the lights and welcoming voices of Agua Caliente werebefore them.CHAPTER V.THE RUSTLERS AT WORK."Jack!""Um-um-um-huh!" from Jack Merrill, as he turned over in his cot."Listen! There it is again---- What is it?"Ralph Stetson sat bolt upright in bed, listening with all his might tothe strange and shivery sound which had awakened him. It was shortlyafter midnight, following the evening of the boys' arrival, and bothwere sleeping--or rather had been sleeping--in a room set aside forthem in one wing of the low, straggly ranch house in the foothills ofthe Sierra de la Hacheta."Wow-wow-wow!" came the cry once more from somewhere among the dreary,moonlit hills outside."Oh, that!" said the ranch-raised boy, with a laugh. "That's coyotes!""Oh," rejoined Ralph wisely. "Coyotes, eh?" But he did not lie downagain. Instead, he listened more intently than before. Presently cameanother howl from some distance off."They're conversational beasts, aren't they?" inquired Ralph."What do you mean?" sleepily muttered Jack."Why, some friend of the one I just heard is answering him. Hark!"Jack Merrill became suddenly interested as he heard the second howl.His eyes grew round as he listened intently, and he, too, sat up in hisbed."Say," he remarked, "that _is_ funny. And hark! there's anotherone--off there to the south.""What do you suppose they are up to?""I've no idea, but I tell you what--if you like, we'll take the rifleand sneak out and see. What do you say?""Um--well, it's a bit chilly to go coyote hunting, but I should like toget one. Professor Wintergreen said at supper last night that he wouldlike to have the hide of one of the beasts for his collection. Let'sgo!""All right. Just slip on a few clothes. The magazine of my rifle'sfull. Don't make a racket getting out of the house, though. I don'tjust know how dad would take it.""But he'll hear the rifle if we shoot one.""That's so; but it will be too late then."Silently as cats, the two boys got out of bed and dressed, an operationwhich was performed by slipping on trousers, shirts and boots overtheir pajamas. Then, with their sombrero hats on, they were ready tocreep outside. The moon had been up for an hour, and was shining downin a radiant flood, illuminating the heaving surface of the foothillsas if they had been a silver sea."Which way will we go?" whispered Ralph, as they stole along in thedark shadow of the low timber house like two culprits."Over there. Down toward the corral. The chicken house is down there,and those four-footed thieves are fond of chicken _au naturel_."Taking advantage of every bit of shadow that offered, the two ladscrept toward the corral, a big inclosure about half an acre in extent,in the center of which stood a fenced haystack. The horses of theranch were generally turned loose in it to browse about at their will.Usually not more than enough for the use of the ranch-house family werekept there, the rest being driven in from the "remuda" as required."Say, it's silent, isn't it?" whispered Ralph, as they crawled alongbehind a big stack of wild-oat hay."Well, you didn't expect to find a roaring city in the heart of thefoothills of the Hachetas, did you?" inquired Jack, with vast sarcasm."Hush! Now I think I saw something!""Where?""Off there to the south. It was slipping along among the hills. There,there it is again!"Ralph strained his eyes into the darkness, but could see nothing of theobject Jack had indicated. It had gone as utterly as if it had not beenthere.Suddenly the wild howls that had awakened Ralph broke out once more.This time they came quite close at hand, and neither boy could repressa start at the sound. It gave an impression of an outburst of demoniacmirth."Wow! ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!"The cry was immediately echoed from the direction in which Jack haddeclared he had seen a gray shadow flitting in and out. The nextinstant both boys gave an involuntary shout of surprise, which theyhastily checked, realizing that they were face to face with a sternnecessity for silence.Outlined as clearly against the moonlight as if it had been cut fromblack paper, the _figure of a horseman_ had momentarily appeared, andthen as abruptly vanished.At the same instant there came a wild disturbance of hoofs in thecorral, and before the boys' astonished eyes four more horsemen dashedfrom it and swept off toward the south. Behind them there trailedhalf a dozen of the animals which had been feeding or sleeping in thecorral. To the neck of each was attached a lariat, and they followedtheir captors at breakneck speed."Horse thieves!" shouted Jack, springing to his feet and giving thealarm by firing a volley of bullets after the retreating rustlers.Instantly the sleeping ranch galvanized into active life. Lightsflashed here and there, and from the bunkhouse on a hillside below themain house there poured a strangely assorted score of hastily arousedcowboys. Some of them were trouserless, but all carried their revolvers."What's the matter? What is it?" shouted Mr. Merrill's voice."Dad, it's horse thieves!" shouted Jack."Some of Black Ramon's bunch, for a bet!" roared Bud Wilson, emergingwith a lantern and vaulting into the corral."Oh, the dirty scoundrels!" he broke out the next instant."What is it? What have they done, Bud?" cried Jack, who realized fromthe usually impassive vaquero's tone that something very much was amiss."Why, they've taken the pick of the bunch! Look here, Firewater's gone,my calico, and----""But they've left some horses. Quick! Let's get after them. We canovertake them!" urged Mr. Merrill, who had hastily thrown on someclothes, and, followed by the professor, was now down at the corral."We can't," wailed Bud; "the precious rascals have hamstrung all thehorses they didn't want."A chorus of furious voices broke out at this. Black Ramon, if itwere he or his band that had made the midnight raid, had planned itcleverly. It would be hours before fresh horses could be rounded upfrom the "remuda," and the poor animals remaining had been crippledfatally. Few minds but that of a Mexican could have conceived of sucha fiendish act. The unfortunate animals, uncomplainingly, as is themanner of horses, were lying about the corral, looking up at the menabout with mute agony in their large eyes."Oh, blazes! if I could get my hands on that greaser!" roared BudWilson."Steady now, Bud, steady!" said Mr. Merrill, though his own frametrembled with rage at the needless brutality of the raiders. "Hardwords will do no good now.""Let's keep quiet a minute. Maybe we can hear the clatter of theirhoofs," said one of the cowboys, a young chap who had come to theranch from a peaceful California range not long before."Not much chance of that," said Bud Wilson bitterly. "Those chaps hadthe hoofs of their own mounts and the ones they stole all muffled--youcan bet your Sunday sombrero on that.""That's why they made so little noise when they led them off," saidRalph. But in the general agitation no one paid any attention to him.Everybody was rushing about asking questions, giving orders, hasteningthis way and that with lanterns. Even the Chinese cook was out with afrying pan in his hand, seemingly under the impression that it was upto him to cook something.It was Mr. Merrill who first found his head."Silence!" he cried in a stern, ringing voice. "You, Bud, select twomen and put these poor brutes here out of their pain.""If it's all the same to you, boss, will you give that job to some oneelse?" said Bud, with a queer little break in his voice. "I've rodesome of them plugs.""All right, then. Your job will be to round up a dozen of the best nagsyou can find from the Escadillo pasture. Get a bite to eat, take twomen with you, and start right now. Don't lose a minute."Bud Wilson hastened off. He didn't want to be near the corral when theshots that told that the ham-strung beasts were being put out of theirmisery were heard."What are they going to do?" whispered Ralph, as two cowboys finallyclimbed into the corral with their revolvers drawn."Kill those poor brutes. It's the only thing to do with a hamstrunghorse," said Jack bitterly, turning away.Ralph, having no more wish than his friend to see the final chapter ofthe raiders' visit, followed him. As they turned they almost ran intothe professor.The estimable scientist, in his agitation, had just thrown asidea valuable book, and held tightly to a piece of straw, under theimpression that he had thrown away the straw and kept the book. Jackpicked up the volume and handed it to the professor. To his surprise,however, the man of science waved the book aside, and the boys couldsee in the moonlight that a new light, foreign entirely to their usualmild radiance, beamed in his eyes."No, no!" he said in a sharp voice, one which the boys had never heardhim use before. "No books now. What I want is a rifle and a horse. Inever knew I was a man of blood till this moment, but--but I'm hangedif I wouldn't like a shot at those--ahem--I believe they are calledgreasers, and a good name for the rascals!""Good for you, professor!" exclaimed Jack; "and if we have our way,you'll get your chance before long. We're going to take the trail afterthose rascals as soon as Bud and the others get the horses.""Oh, Jack, are we to go?" gasped Ralph."Well, if we don't, something's going to drop!" said Jack in adetermined tone. "They've taken my little Firewater, and I've gotsomething to say to them on my own account.""Say," exclaimed Ralph suddenly, as the professor and the boyshastened toward the house, "I want to take back something I saidyesterday.""What's that?""That there are no adventures left in the modern West."Jack, even in the midst of his agitation, could not help laughing atRalph's earnest tone."I wonder what they'd think at Stonefell if they could see us now,"he mused. Suddenly he pointed toward the professor, who was angrilyshaking a fist at the Southern sky, where the saw-like outline of theHachetas cut the moonlit horizon."And what would his Latin class say if they could see him?""That he was all right!" rejoined Ralph, with deep conviction.Inside the great living room of the ranch house, with its brightlycolored rugs on the dark wood floor and walls, and a blaze leaping inits big open hearth, for the night was chilly, the Chinese cook wasalready setting out a meal, when the boys entered. Mr. Merrill, hisbrow furrowed with deep thought, was walking up and down. He looked upas his son and Ralph entered, and spoke quickly."You boys had better remain at the ranch," he said. "We are not likelyto be gone long and----"He stopped short. The blank faces of the two lads had caused him tobreak into a broad smile despite the seriousness of his mood."Why, why," he said amusedly, "surely you didn't expect to come along?""Why, dad, of course. They've taken my Firewater, the rascals, and I'vegot a personal interest in the thing.""And I, sir," began Ralph, "I am out here for experience, you know.""Well, you certainly seem to be getting it. I am half inclined to allowyou to come. I must attach one condition to it, however, and that isthat you obey orders implicitly, and if any danger arises that you willdo your best to conceal yourselves from it.""What, run away--oh, dad!" began Jack, but his father cut him short."Accept my conditions or stay here, Jack.""Very well, then, dad, we accept--eh, Ralph?"The Eastern boy nodded. Not for the world would he have missed what wasto come. And now the professor spoke up."Mr. Merrill, sir, I shall take it as a favor if you will providea horse for me. In my young days I was not unaccustomed to equinepursuits, and I feel that I should make one of your party. I couldwish, sir, to be in at the--the finish--if I may say so--of thoseruffians.""There is small likelihood of our catching them, professor," said Mr.Merrill, smiling at the other's excitement. "They have a long start. Iam afraid you would only have a long, tiring ride for your pains.""I am willing to chance it," said the professor simply. "I feel, infact, that such a dash across the er--er, Rubicon would be classic,sir, classic, if nothing else.""That being the case," said Mr. Merrill, checking his amusement, inview of the professor's evident earnestness, "you shall certainly come.But now breakfast, or supper, or whatever one may call the meal, seemsto be ready. Let us sit down and eat, for we have a long ride ahead ofus."During the meal Mr. Merrill was plied with questions by the eager boys.In fact, so numerous did the queries become, that he was relieved atlast when a diversion offered in the shape of a clattering of hoofsoutside the door."Rap!" came at the portal."Ah, the horses at last!" exclaimed Mr. Merrill, eagerly rising to hisfeet, and betraying by his haste how anxious he was to be off, despitehis assumed indifference."Come in!" he called in answer to the rap.The boys looked expectantly confident of seeing the familiar featuresof Bud Wilson.To their astonishment, however, the newcomer was a total stranger. Asmall, swarthy Mexican. He wore bear-skin chapareros, and seemed tohave ridden far and hard. At the sight of him they all sprang to theirfeet, so complete was their surprise at the unexpected nationality oftheir visitor.CHAPTER VI.TAKING UP THE TRAIL.The new arrival replied to Mr. Merrill's look of inquiry by a volubleflood of Spanish. When he paused for breath, the rancher, whounderstood the language perfectly, turned to the professor and hisyoung companions."This man, if he is to be relied upon, has furnished us with a valuableclue," he said. "According to him the rustlers passed him headed forGrizzly Pass not more than an hour ago. If this is so, then we standa good chance of overtaking them. The ground there is rough, and, notexpecting pursuit, they will take it easy. In fact, this fellow saysthat when he saw them they were camping.""You think he is to be relied on?" asked the professor."Well, that remains to be seen. He tells a straight enough story. Hesays he is a sheepman who has a few hundred head in the highlands nearthe caon. While camped in a small pass leading off the main caon,he overheard these fellows talking about the trick they played, anddecided to inform me at once. He sneaked quietly out of his camp,saddled a horse he had there, and rode hard till he arrived here."At this moment a fresh trampling of hoofs announced that Bud and hiscompanion had returned with the "remuda" horses, and soon after Budhimself entered the room.In leather chapareros, high-heeled riding-boots and jingling spurs, helooked every inch the cow-puncher as he handled his revolver grimly."We're about ready when you are, boss," he said."Oh, yes--all right, Wilson. But I've got something I want to tell you."Rapidly Mr. Merrill ran over the story of the Mexican sheep-herder."What do you think of it?" he asked, as he concluded."Wa'al, it _sounds_ all right," admitted Bud reluctantly, "but this yerfeller's a greaser, boss, and----""Oh, I know, Wilson, but after all, what can happen to us? We will be astrong party, and we'll take him along with us. He says he's willing togo.""Of course, that makes it different," admitted Bud; "but my advicewould be to make him ride with a lariat round his neck, so that atthe first sign of treachery we can string him up with neatness anddispatch.""We can't do that," smiled Mr. Merrill, while Bud glared at theMexican, "but we can have him ride right with us, and then there willbe no danger of his playing us false.""You understand what will happen to you if you ain't on the level withus?" demanded Bud of the Mexican, placing his hands about his ownthroat with a ferocious and significant expression."Si, seor," nodded the Mexican."All right, then. That being the case, you can't blame us if anythingcomes off that don't happen to be on your future schedule of events."Soon after this conversation the expedition started. Dawn was justbreaking as they clattered out from under the cottonwoods thatsurrounded the ranch house. They were a grim, determined-looking band.On each man's saddle he carried slung before him his rifle, and withthe exception of Ralph and the professor, every one of those ten riderswas a crack shot. Behind each cow-puncher's cantle was tied a roll ofblankets, and besides their lariats each saddle horn held suspendeda quart canteen full of water. Two pack animals, selected for theirspeed, carried a camping outfit and cooking utensils. Complete as wasthe organization, it had taken little more than half an hour to get itready for the start."Hi-yi!" yelled Jack, bringing down his quirt over his pony's flanks."It's good to hit the trail and get some action.""Same here," rejoined Ralph, pressing up alongside of him.The two boys urged their ponies to an easy lope. As for some miles tocome there was no necessity for them to travel with the main bodyof the men, they kept it up till they were some distance ahead. Mr.Merrill had decided that there was no danger to be apprehended till themountains were actually reached, and his consent had been gained beforethe boys loped off alone.Suddenly another rider spurred into view, coming from the oppositedirection to the boys and the Merrill party."Walt Phelps!" cried Jack with a glad shout.The other returned the greeting and soon learned the news from AguaCaliente.Soon the three boys were riding forward together. Walter Phelps, itappeared, had heard rumors that the rustlers had been abroad in thenight, and had risen early and saddled for a ride to the Merrill ranch.He was much concerned when he learned of the rancher's loss, andvolunteered to join the party.To this Mr. Merrill entered no objection, and the three boys rode sideby side all the morning. The noonday camp was made in a small arroyoimmediately below a frowning spur of the Hachetas. The foothills hadbeen growing more and more rugged as the advance was made, and nowthe party might fairly be said to be in the mountains themselves. Byskirting two more spurs they would be in Grizzly Pass in less than anhour. The character of the scenery was gloomy and grand in the extreme.The rugged and mysterious mountains, clothed darkly, almost to theirsummits, with scrub-oak, fir and pion trees, seemed to Ralph topromise all kinds of adventure.The noonday meal was a hasty one. As soon as it was dispatched theparty pressed on without pausing for further rest. The road now grewso rough that the trail of the stolen horses, which had at first beenplain and clear, could no longer be seen. The Mexican guide, closelyguarded by Bud Wilson and a cowboy named Coyote Pete, rode in front.Close behind came Mr. Merrill, the three boys and the professor, and intheir rear followed the half-dozen cowboys who formed the remainder ofthe expedition."Are we getting near the place now, Jose?" asked Mr. Merrill,addressing their guide by the name he had given, about the middle ofthe afternoon."Si, seor," rejoined the guide, who soon after directed the cavalcadetoward the mouth of the pass through which he said the stolen horseshad been driven.If the mountains had been gloomy and sinister to the view while ridingalong the base of them, the northern entrance to Grizzly Pass itselfthrew a damper over the spirit of even Coyote Pete, who had hithertolarked about and displayed a great fund of high spirits. The dark wallof the caon rose perpendicularly to a height of more than a hundredfeet on the right side of the rough trail. At the other hand was a deepand dark abyss at the bottom of which a hidden river roared. Beyond theformidable pit reared another frowning rampart of sheer rock. Deep downcould be heard the murmuring of water."That's the overflow from the big dam," explained Walter Phelps,pointing over into the sonorous depths."The dam is up in this direction, then?" inquired Ralph."Yes, it is located in a small caon, off to the right of the pass.I'll show you the place when we reach it."For some time they rode on without a word. The deep gloom andoppressive silence was not encouraging to conversation. The sound of astone dislodged by a pony's hoof in that dismal place caused several ofthe party to give a nervous start more than once.Suddenly the right-hand wall of the caon opened out--as they roundeda sharp promontory of rock--and another deep chasm cut abruptly intoGrizzly Pass almost at right angles. The deep rift which this causedacross the trail had been bridged by a span of rough logs which crossedthe intersecting caon at a height of fully three hundred feet. A sceneof wilder and more impressive grandeur than the caon presented at thepoint they had now reached not one of the party had ever beheld. Evena whisper went echoing and reverberating among the gloomy rocks instartling contrast to the brooding silence of the spot.The frowning black walls, the melancholy-looking trees clinging to thealmost perpendicular walls, the bottomless chasm, and the deep dusk oflate afternoon, all combined to make it the most oppressive scene intowhich any of the boys had ever penetrated.They had reached the bridge and the feet of the Mexican guide's horsewere upon it, when from behind them there came a sudden startling sound.The loud report of a rifle, followed by another and another, re-echoedbehind them seemingly high up among the rocks.Bang! Bang! Bang! came the explosions.Instantly, Mr. Merrill and Bud wheeled their horses sharply and facedround toward the danger. At the same instant Coyote Pete set up a yell:"Buncoed, by ginger!"He pointed ahead as he dashed across the bridge in pursuit of theirtreacherous guide, who was galloping off up the caon at top speed. Hehad taken advantage of the confusion to escape. Without an instant'sthought as to what they were doing, the three boys pressed spursto their animals and thundered across the flimsy structure afterthe cow-puncher. The professor's horse became unmanageable in theexcitement. The creature gave one tremendous plunge and with theunhappy scientist half on and half off its back, dashed across thebridge after the others.In the meantime, Mr. Merrill and the cow-punchers had galloped back towhere the firing still kept up. They all feared that they had been ledinto an ambush, and that the attack was from the rear."That yellow-skinned varmint betrayed us, after all," ground out BudWilson, as they dashed back. "Those shots were meant for us, and camefrom Black Ramon's men.""Yes, we were wrong to trust him," rejoined Mr. Merrill, "but now we'vebeen led into a trap, we've got to fight out of it the best way we can.""You bet we will, boss," was Bud Wilson's rejoinder.The firing on the hillside had now ceased, and the little cavalcadecame to a halt."Not a soul to be seen," exclaimed Mr. Merrill."Well, that's funny," commented Bud. "This is where the firing was, forsure.""Yep, right up above there," rejoined another cowboy, Sam Ellis,pointing upward on the hillside."What do you make of it, boss?" was Bud's next query."I don't know what to think," rejoined Mr. Merrill. "Perhaps we weremistaken, and the firing we heard came from hunters up on the hillside.""Hunters! Not much chance of that," said Bud grimly. "Hunters who madeall that racket would soon scare all the game in the country away. No,boss, you'll have to guess again. By _Jee_-hosophat!"Slinking through the underbrush far above them, Bud's keen eyes haddiscovered the furtive form of a man who by his gay sash and high-conedhat seemed to be a Mexican. To think, with Bud, was to act. His riflejerked up to his shoulder as if automatically. As the weapon crackedsharply the man on the hillside gave a loud scream. Throwing his handshelplessly above his head, the next instant he came plunging andcrashing downward through the brush."Got him!" gritted out Bud, grimly blowing through the barrel of hisrifle to clear the smoke."Yip-ee!" yelled the cow-punchers at the successful shot.Mr. Merrill looked grave."I didn't want any bloodshed, Bud," he said. "The boys--great heavens!where are they?"He had wheeled suddenly and discovered that they were missing."Yes, and where's Pete, and where's the professor?" chimed in Bud.Alarm showed on every countenance.In the excitement, the absence of the members of the party who hadspurred onward over the bridge had not been noticed. But now blanklooks were exchanged. If they had galloped on--as there seemed to beno doubt they must have--by that time they were probably in seriousstraits."Wait till I get that varmint, and then I'll be with you," cried Bud,swinging off his pony.The cow-puncher plunged up the hillside a few feet and picked up theMexican, who had rolled down the steep incline to within a shortdistance of the trail."Is he dead?" asked Mr. Merrill anxiously, for the Mexican showed nosign of life."Not dead, but pretty near it," Bud rapidly diagnosed, ripping open theMexican's shirt. "The bullet went right neighborly to his heart."With surprising strength for one of his wiry build, Bud picked up andslung the wounded man over the saddle before him with a grim idea inhis head that at some future time the fellow might be needed."Now then, boys!" cried Mr. Merrill, "those others may be in a badpickle by this time. It may have been the purpose of this trap to getthem over the bridge. It's up to us to get them out of it. I knowyou'll do all that lies in your power to help.""You bet we will, boss," spoke up Ellis."Yip-yip-y-ee-ee!"The cow-puncher's wild yell came from the bronzed throats with a will.The next instant the little cavalcade was off, clattering up the trailtoward the bridge.They swept rapidly round the small bluff of rock which had hidden thebridge from them while they had been investigating the mysteriousshots. As the trail came full in view, a groan of disappointment burstfrom them.The pass beyond the bridge was empty of life.Of their friends there was not a trace.A terrible feeling that the worst had happened filled every heart."Come on, boys, we'll get 'em if we have to go to Mexico City for 'em,"yelled Bud defiantly. "Wow!""That's the stuff--wow!" yelled the others.With his exultant cry still in his throat, and his arm still waving,Bud drove in his spurs. He was about to dash upon the bridge, whensuddenly the structure heaved upward before his eyes and the wholeworld seemed to turn to red flame. A fiery wind singed his face.There was a roar that filled the air, the sky--everything. The earthrocked and breathed hotly under the cow-pony's feet. Bud felt hisbroncho suddenly fall from under him and himself dropping like a stoneinto space. Desperately he clutched, grasped something solid, and drewhimself up. Then, everything went out from his senses and the wholeworld grew dark.CHAPTER VII.IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY."What happened, Bud?"Mr. Merrill, stanching a wound in his head with his hand, sat uprighton the edge of the dark gorge across which a few moments before therehad been a bridge. Now there was none. Only sullen wisps of yellowishsmoke curling upward and a strong, acrid smell in the air.Sheer below the rancher, the naked rocks shot down, bare of foothold.Deep down at the bottom rushed the river which carried water from theland company's dam down to the valley. The dam lay up the caon to thewest.Bud Wilson was crawling about dazedly on his hands and knees. All aboutwere plunging horses and rock-wounded men. The still stupefied Budlooked up as the rancher impatiently repeated his question."_Dynamite!_--the yellow-skinned reptiles," he growled, "and if thatcharge had been touched off right we should all have been at the bottomof that gorge with my poor horse."He gazed over the ragged, explosive-riven edge, and shuddered, as farbelow him he sighted a dark mass lying among the brush and trees at thebottom of the gulch."Yes, it was dynamite beyond a doubt," agreed the rancher; "but how didwe escape the dreadful fate they had prepared for us?"Bud Wilson shrugged his shoulders."I reckon the feller they left to press the button got rattled andtouched it off too soon," he rejoined. "They're a jumpy lot, thesegreasers.""Thank Heaven that none of us is seriously hurt," said Mr. Merrill,looking about him. "I do not believe that any one has suffered morethan a few cuts from flying rocks."This proved to be the case. The escape of the party when the bridge hadbeen blown up had indeed been miraculous."Why should they have delayed to set off the charge till we came back?Why not have set it off when we were all on the bridge, before wewheeled round to discover the origin of the shots on the hillside?"asked Mr. Merrill."Well, boss, it looks this way to me," said Bud, after a period of deepthought. "Them fellows had the trap all set and calculated that when weheard the firing we should stop and hesitate--as we did. Well, that, Itake it, was the time that that charge should have been touched off,but somehow connections missed. We weren't on the bridge. That fellowwith the rifle fired too quick. Then, too, them boys and Pete takingoff after that treacherous varmint wasn't calculated on by them, inall probability, and what with one thing and another they missed theirguess on the first charge.""And on the second, too, by Christmas!" chimed in Ellis. "There ain'ta pony missin' but the one you rode, Bud, and there ain't a man of ushurt; even that greaser you had on your saddle-bow got bucked off whenyour pony was blown over the edge.""By the great horn spoon, that's right," said Bud, walking over towhere the wounded Mexican lay."Still unconscious," he said, after a brief examination. "If only hecould talk, boss," the cow-puncher added whimsically."That would do us no good, Bud," rejoined Mr. Merrill. "It would giveus no clue to the fate of my poor boy and the others.""Wouldn't it, boss?" echoed Bud. "Wa'al, in my opinion this saffroncoyote here deserves careful keeping for future reference, for Ibelieve he holds the key to the whole mystery.""Heaven grant he does," breathed Mr. Merrill, his heart sinking as hethought of the possible destiny of Jack and his friends. "Without hisaid I don't see what we are to do.""Well," said Bud cheerfully, "ain't no good worryin'. We'll get 'em outof it all right, never fear, boss.""Thanks, Bud, I hope we will," said Mr. Merrill, bravely putting hisanxiety from him as best he could. "But the thing to do now is to finda safe place to camp for the night. We should not be overtaken bydarkness in such a trap as this.""I guess there's not much danger of an attack now," said Bud bitterly."I wish there was. I'd give a new saddle for a crack at one of themgreasers."Soon afterward, with Bud riding double behind Ellis, and Mr. Merrill'ssaddle bearing the wounded Mexican, the sorrowful party began thejourney back down the caon. With every sense and muscle aching foraction, they were compelled to await the decision of time. The clewto the attack, and the whereabouts of Black Ramon and his gang, layin the hands of one man, and that man was unable to speak. No wonderthat as they rode, the thought in Mr. Merrill's mind was to get medicalattendance for their wounded foe as soon as possible, and in themeantime give him the best of care.As Bud had said, he might be valuable for future reference. * * * * *As their ponies' hoofs hammered over the rough bridge the BorderBoys' minds had burned with but one thought. They must capture thetreacherous guide who, it appeared only too evidently, had led theminto a trap. As their mounts flew by a dense brush mass on the rocksat the farther side of the precipitous gorge, they had glimpsed for asecond a crouching figure. But such was their wish to catch up with thetreacherous Jose that they paid the figure no attention. Yet had theydone so, they might have prevented the destruction of the bridge. Thecrouching man was one of Black Ramon's followers, and in the brush wasconcealed the battery from which led the wires which were to blow upthe bridge."I'd give a new lariat right now to have my fingers on that sneakingcoyote's throat," gritted out Walt Phelps, as the ponies loped swiftlyalong.A little ahead of the Border Boys, rode the large, angular figure ofCoyote Pete, bestriding his big, raw-boned bay with the careless easeof the old plainsman. The ends of his scarlet handkerchief whippedout behind his neck, and he gnawed his long, straw-colored mustachenervously as he kept his keen, blue eyes, with a maze of little desertfurrows round them, centred on the crouching figure of the Mexicanahead. The professor having by this time checked his horse andrecovered his equilibrium, gazed about as eagerly as the rest.The trea